


Fore Play

by Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mutual Masturbation, Podfic Welcome, Post-Deathly Hallows, Twenty Years Later, Vaginal Sex, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 06:21:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14443245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum/pseuds/Keep_Calm_And_Expecto_Patronum
Summary: It’s the twentieth anniversary since the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War, and Hermione has received an invitation to attend a memorial service to mark the occasion.Hermione however isn’t keen to reopen old wounds and plans an alternative trip instead. Her hopes for a peaceful, relaxing holiday are quickly dashed as she and Draco Malfoy cross paths again in the most unexpected place imaginable.Sparks (and balls) immediately fly between them. It may not be the peaceful holiday she had intended, but it was certainly going to be memorable.Originally written for the 20 Years Later Fest.





	1. Quidditch

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta [ Nymphadorable ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadorable/pseuds/Nymphadorable) your time and work on this story!

 

Hermione Granger hated Quidditch.

Of course, during her school days she had attended matches and supported the Gryffindor team, but mainly she was there to support Harry rather than having any vested interest in the match itself. Even when she was in attendance she would always be nose-deep in a book during the match, Ron more than enthusiastic for the two of them screaming and shouting his head off the whole time. She suffered many an evening listening to Ron and Harry drone on and on about the barbaric sport; Hermione would purse her lips, knitting away furiously as they discussed their favourite teams and players, argued about the most effective strategies, mused over the gnarliest injuries. It bored and irked her senselessly.

Ironically, it was her distinct lack of interest in anything related to Quidditch that caught Viktor Krum’s interests in the first place – Hermione was the only person in the entire school who didn’t swan over him because he was a world-famous Seeker. In fact, they never spoke about the game at all. It was more than this that drew him to her, of course – during the Triwizard Tournament he had taken to studying in the library every day, trying to pluck up the courage to speak to the pretty witch. When he finally did, he was surprised at how easy she was to talk to; they talked about their schoolwork, their homelife and families, their dreams and aspirations for the future – but never Quidditch. And that suited both of them just fine.

After Viktor had returned to Durmstrang – after the Dark Lord had returned – they had kept in touch, Hermione writing to him every week keeping him well-informed of her studies as well as the growing danger in Britain that threatened to spill over to the rest of the Wizarding World; she would tell him how much she missed him, how his words of comfort were a source of strength for her during those dark days. Then without warning he had heard nothing from her. For months. Wanted posters for the Golden Trio had sprung up everywhere as the fight for freedom finally spilled over the British border and planted itself firmly at his feet.

What was he to do? He was in Bulgaria and Hermione was Merlin knows where; nobody knew whether she was dead or alive. He did the only thing he could – he came to Britain to fight. He had joined the Order of the Phoenix, desperate for any information about the woman he loved. He had heard snippets here and there, but nothing concrete. But he kept fighting and kept faith that she was still alive, still out there fighting what seemed an unwinnable war. Then came the night of May second – it had started out as mundane as any other could during a war, patching up injured Order members who had narrowly escaped capture or worse at the hands of a group of Snatchers. Then word got to them all – Harry Potter had returned to Hogwarts, and the Dark Lord was on his way to confront him once and for all. Finally this was going to end, one way or another.

“Iz Hermoninny vith Harry?” he had asked. Nobody knew for certain. But Viktor did. He knew in his gut that she would be there. He had snatched up his wand and headed straight for Hogwarts for the Final Battle to fight. To find her. When Voldemort had fallen and the battle had been won, Viktor found Hermione afterwards and told her had come for her.

“Why?” she had asked. “Why would you put yourself in danger for me?”

“Because I love you,” he had replied simply. They had embraced then, and he never let her go again.

There were a quick succession of marriages in the aftermath of the war; Harry and Ginny, of course. Ron and Cho a while later. Then Hermione and Viktor had made their vows to each other, had two beautiful children, bought a big house in the English countryside and lived happily ever after.

For a while.

After the war, Viktor was able to pick up where his Quidditch career had left off. Hermione may have hated Quidditch, but Viktor obviously loved the sport and he was a damn good Seeker. She would support him of course; she never complained about the long hours he spent away from home training, even though she missed him terribly. She would attend all of his games even if more often than not she would be nose-deep in a book. She was always on hand to patch him up if need be - she lost count at the number of cuts and grazes and broken bones he came off the pitch with. She’d purse her lips and knit furiously while Ron, Harry, Cho and Ginny chattered incessantly about the game they had literally just watched in the after-match celebrations. And she had consoled him when he had lost the final match of his career to Egypt in the World Cup final. She put up with it all because she loved him, and because when they went home in the evening, they didn’t talk about Quidditch. Anything but Quidditch.

She loved him so much, that she had grudgingly supported him coming out of retirement to play one final match, his last chance at winning the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione however, was worried; Quidditch was a dangerous sport, and as fit as he was for his age Viktor was not a young man anymore. But despite her protests he had shrugged her off her concerns declaring, “I alvays swore zat I vould vin ze Vorld Cup before I die. Zis is my last chance.”

It was the one match Hermione hadn’t brought a book along to. She watched her husband soaring through the sky with a feeling of growing trepidation. At thirty-eight he was old for a Seeker, but he had always taken care of himself. He had trained hard in preparation for the match, and based on what she saw he had never played better in his life.

The final moments of the match would be seared forever into Hermione’s mind. Viktor and the Brazilian Seeker were neck in neck, soaring higher and higher into the dark, cloudy sky threatening a downpour at any moment. The Brazilian Seeker looked as though he were about to steal victory from Viktor, but at the last moment he lurched forward and snatched the Snitch out of the air, claiming victory at last. As the crowd roared so did the thunder and the rain began to pour, but Viktor didn’t care. He circled the stadium, punching the air triumphantly as the tiny snitch fluttered furiously in his hand. Tears streamed down his cheeks mixing with the rain, a look of sheer elation written all over his face. In that moment, Hermione’s fears had melted away as she screamed and cheered with the other spectators, her heart swelling with pride.

Then, lightning struck.

The roar of thunder and blinding of flash of light struck the crowd momentarily dumb. Then Viktor had slid off of his broomstick plummeting towards the ground far below, and everyone had screamed.

Viktor had always promised himself that he would win the World Cup before he died, although he certainly hadn’t expected both things to happen at precisely the same moment. It was perhaps a little short-sighted on his part to be soaring so high above the stadium brandishing a metallic orb during a thunderstorm. Not that hindsight mattered much to Hermione after that. Widowed at the age of thirty-six with two small children to care for, she didn’t have much time to think about what they could have done differently. The cruel hand of fate had brandished victory within Viktor’s grasp before snatching him away from Hermione forever.

The irony wasn’t lost on her, of course. Viktor had survived a war only to be killed during a bloody Quidditch match.

Hermione _hated_ Quidditch.


	2. An Invitation

_Ms Hermione Jean Granger,_

_The honour of your presence is requested at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the morning of May 2nd to attend the 20th Annual Remembrance Service._

_The ceremony will take place at eleven o’clock in the Great Hall in remembrance of all who fell during the Second Wizarding War._

_Guests are to arrive at ten o’clock sharp. The ceremony will begin at eleven o’clock and will end promptly at one-thirty. Light refreshments will be provided afterwards._

_Please R.S.V.P. A.S.A.P._

_Kindest regards,_

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

_Anthony Goldstein, Events Organiser and Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation._

 

Hermione read and re-read the invitation in her hand with a growing feeling of unease. She had been expecting it of course, but the wave of dread that washed over her when the invitation had arrived by Owl Post that morning had taken her by surprise.

Twenty years. It seemed like two lifetimes ago; a lifetime since she and Viktor had embraced that day and promised to be together forever. Another since he had passed and she’d had to learn to live without him. The memories of the Final Battle and of Viktor were still too raw for her to linger on for too long. Pushing her morose thoughts to one side she stuffed the invitation into her back pocket and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” she cried and stepped into the emerald green flames.

Some people attended the ceremony every year; Luna and Neville always went together with their families. Ron and Cho had been a few times with the kids. The one and only time Harry had attended was the ten year anniversary, but that was only because there was such high expectation that he should be there. He had hated every minute of it, but Ginny had guided him through the day generally unscathed, avoiding awkward conversations with avid fans and disgruntled survivors, then hurried away almost immediately after the conclusion of the ceremony. Hermione had attended on occasion, but never without Viktor. She wasn’t keen to go this year either, but she was no fool; expectations of the Golden Trio’s attendance would be greater this year than any one previous.

Stepping out of the fireplace into the dark, shabby pub she was immediately greeted with shouts of greeting from a faraway corner, “Hermione! Over here!”

Ron was on his feet and waving her over to where he had managed to secure a table large enough for the old gang to sit at. Hermione smiled broadly as she approached her old school friends, all of her previous anxieties melting away. Ron pulled her into a tight hug, “How you doing? It feels like it’s been ages since we last saw you!”

“Yeah it has,” she sighed hugging Cho, Harry and Ginny in turn before taking her seat at the end of the table. Neville, Hannah, Luna and Rolf waved for the other end of the table, “How are you all getting on?”

“Fine,” nodded Neville. “We’ve just been discussing the upcoming reunion. We all got our letters this morning.”

Hermione’s heart sank. She should have known this would be the main topic of conversation today, “Oh, yes. I got mine, too.”

“We were trying to decide whether or not we wanted to stay in Hogsmeade the night before,” Cho added. “It would be nice to see it again. We could get up early and go to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop for breakfast.”

“I’m not going there with you,” joked Harry. “The last time we went there it was a disaster.”

Cho laughed and slapped him on the arm. Ron put his arm around Cho and smirked, “Wouldn’t you rather go with me? I’m much more famous than he is, anyway.”

Everyone at the table laughed. Cho quirked an eyebrow at him, “Are you asking me out on a date, sir? I’m a married woman, you know.”

“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” he winked. Cho grinned and kissed him on the cheek.

“It’s a date, then.”

“Merlin, you two are so grossly in love I may puke,” groaned Ginny rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Oi! I had to put up with you two snogging the face off of each other constantly when you got together,” he argued throwing his sister and Harry an accusatory look. “It’s only fair that you show me the same courtesy.”

“We were teenagers, Ron!” she cried exasperatedly. “And you’ve been married for how many years now? You’re a grown man in your thirties, you should have grown out of your hormonal teenager phase long before now.”

“Age is only a number,” he declared. “I’m still seventeen in my heart and my mind. And in other places…”

Everyone groaned and Cho blushed. Ginny covered her ears, “Too much information!”

“Do I need to have a talk with you about the birds and the bees, Ginny?” he teased pulling her hands away from her ears. “Hate to break it to you, but thestrals don’t drop babies into their cradles!”

She shrugged him off laughing, “It’s a bit late now mate, I’ve already got three of my own!”

“Anyway,” Harry cut in, leaving the siblings to squabble and laugh between themselves. “Gin and I are going to stay at The Three Broomsticks the night before the ceremony. So are Luna and Rolf. Are you wanting a room as well or will we just meet you at the ceremony?”

“Erm…” Hermione hesitated. “I’m not sure I’ll be going, actually.”

“What?” every head turned towards Hermione, even Ron and Ginny snapped their heads round, wide eyed with shock.

“What do you mean you won’t be going?” asked Ron.

Hermione shrugged, “You know I’ve never been overly keen on attending these ceremonies. I understand there’s an expectation for the three of us to be there but…honestly Ron, I just can’t face it.”

“But won’t Polina and Mikhail be expecting you to attend?” asked Cho. “At the very least it’s a chance for us all to see our kids for an afternoon.”

“Of course I want to see my children,” snapped Hermione. “I don’t however want to spend my morning walking around the site of where our friends and classmates were murdered.”

An uncomfortable silence fell at the table at Hermione’s unexpected outburst. Cho’s cheeks flushed crimson and she averted her gaze, “I know that. That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry.”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged and she sighed, “I know you didn’t. It’s just…it’s been twenty years, and it still feels just as raw today as it did back then. I know it’s difficult for all of us, but I’m just not ready to go back yet, not on my own.” Not without Viktor, she thought.

“You won’t be on your own,” Luna assured her. “We’ll be there too. We were all there for each other that day twenty years ago; we will always be there for each other.”

“I know that, but it’s not the same is it?” argued Hermione. “You all have each other. I had Viktor. He was the only reason I had the strength to attend the bloody events in the first place. No, the ceremony is just going to be too much of a reminder of everything that I’ve lost. I’m sorry if I’m letting you all down.”

“You’re not letting us down,” Harry gently reassured her. “If you don’t want to go, then you don’t have to. If you change your mind, you know you’re always welcome. But if you’re not up for it, then that’s fine too. We can meet up with you here after the ceremony if you like. How does that sound?”

“Maybe,” she replied slowly. “I kind of already made alternative plans that week.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Really? What are you doing?”

Hermione shifted in her seat, a little embarrassed to admit, “I’m going to Gleneagles, actually.”

“What’s that?” asked Ron curiously.

“It’s a golf club,” smiled Harry mischievously. “You’ve taken up golfing and you never told us?”

“I might have done,” she replied huffily. “I’d been thinking about starting for a while; it’s relaxing, it gets me out of that stuffy old office for a few hours and a bit of light exercise never goes amiss. And I was sick to the back teeth hearing about bloody Quidditch all of the time from you lot, so I wanted to immerse myself in something as far away from Quidditch as possible. So, naturally…”

“What’s golf?” asked Ron looking confused.

“It’s about the safest, most boring, most Muggle sport in the world. You’d hate it, Ron,” Harry laughed and turned back to Hermione. “Well, Gleneagles isn’t too far from Hogwarts, so if you do change your mind, you’ve not got far to apparate. But if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll have a very relaxing, well-deserved holiday.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she replied lightly taking a sip of her Firewhisky. She could always trust in Harry to understand better than most her reluctance to attend these types of events. He wouldn’t try to guilt-trip her into attending anything, but was always kind enough to leave the door open for her if she ever did change her mind. She knew that she wouldn’t, but she appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.

“Well, I’ll be spending the night at the castle with Neville,” smiled Hannah squeezing his hand. Neville grinned.

“Just one of the privileges of being a Professor at the school is getting my own quarters. Another is I can roll out of bed in the morning and I’m already at work, it’s brilliant.”

The conversation and attention turned away from Hermione, much to her relief. She sat back sipping her drink in silence, listening to her friends chatting and laughing together. She enjoyed their company of course, but since Viktor had died, she had felt like the constant third, miserable wheel at all of their gatherings. Yet another reason she didn’t want to attend the ceremony; everyone else would have someone there for them to hold their hand, to console them. She would be on her own.

No, it was time for Hermione to do something not on her own, but something that was her own; something completely separate from her friends and from Viktor.


	3. Fore!

As Hermione pulled up to Gleneagles Hotel and Golf Resort she stared open-mouthed at the looming grandeur of the large country house. Driving at a snail’s pace around the huge fountain towards the front entrance, she marvelled at the beautiful grey sandstone building and its well-kept gardens. She had seen pictures of it in the catalogue, but nothing compared to standing in front of it; it resembled more of a palace than a hotel. Climbing out of her modest Volkswagon Polo her eyes were drawn away from the luxury hotel towards the long line of luxury cars in the resident’s driveway. She wasn’t poor by any means – Viktor’s career had been well-paid and he had left her a sizeable some of gold in his vaults after he had passed away – but Hermione wasn’t inclined to flaunt her wealth; she had nothing to prove to anyone. Dragging her suitcase passed various Porsches, Mercedes and a Rolls-Royce, she did a double-take and paused at the car nearest the entrance.

An emerald green Ferrari was auspiciously placed so that anyone who entered the hotel would see it. There was no denying that it was a beautiful car, although it was clearly a show-piece and not purpose built for country roads. Hermione snorted. In place of the Ferrari emblem was a hood ornament; a golden snitch with silver wings. _Very subtle_ , she mused. Whoever owned this ridiculous car was obviously an utter prat. She kept her fingers crossed and hoped that whoever it belonged to, she and they wouldn’t cross paths.

Hermione got checked in as quickly as possible, dumped her suitcase without giving the room a second look and headed straight for the golf course. It was perfect golfing weather; the spring sun was high in a cloudless sky and only a slight breeze tousled her wild curls. Taking position at the first teeing ground, she struck the ball hard and watched it disappear over the horizon. It bounced onto the fairway, rolled forward a little then came to a standstill on the edge of the green. Not bad, she mused. Sliding her driver back into her golf bag, she sauntered down the hill in the direction of the green. She paused as her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out to read the message she smiled:

_Harry: How’s it going, Bagger Vance?_

_Hermione: Great, thanks! Just teed off actually, great weather for a round. FYI Bagger Vance wasn’t a golfer, he was the caddie._

_Harry: LOL ok let me try again…_

_Harry: How’s it going, Tiger? ;)_

_Hermione: Haha, better!_

Hermione putted the ball easily into the first hole and her phone buzzed again. Pulling out her phone again she snorted. It was Seamus this time:

_Seamus: Awrite McIlroy! How you finding Gleneagles?_

_Hermione: Fine thanks. Just finishing up at the first hole now._

_Seamus: Nice. How come you didn’t invite me and Dean to play?? You know I love golf!_

_Hermione: Because I wanted peace and quiet for a change and I’m not going to get that with you two in my company._

_Seamus: Ouch haha, fair point though!_

_Hermione: I’m just about to start the second hole. Text you back when I’m finished._

_Seamus: Cool, ttyl xx_

Hermione shoved her phone back into her pocket and only made it a few paces towards the next hole before it buzzed again. She sighed and glanced at it, this time she had a message from Ron.

_Ron: Hermione, I’m bored._

_Hermione: Slow day at the office?_

_Ron: VERY._

_Ron: I’d rather be feeding Hagrid’s flobberworms than do this bloody paperwork._

_Hermione: I don’t suppose Harry and Seamus are in the office with you?_

_Ron: Yeah, we’re all talking about how we might pop over to Gleneagles for the afternoon and check out the golf course for ourselves lol._

_Hermione: DON’T YOU DARE._

_Ron: I’m only joking!_

_Ron: Half-joking._

_Ron: If we DID turn up, how annoyed would you be?_

_Hermione: I’m switching my phone off now._

“Can’t get a moment’s peace from you lot,” she muttered switching her phone off and shoving it into her back pocket, determined to finish the rest of her round without further interruption. She sighed and closed her eyes contentedly. No magic. No stress. No-one pestering her from the outside world. And no bloody Quidditch; everything was perfect.

“FORE!” cried someone in the distance. Hermione turned as she heard something zinging through the air. Shielding her eyes from the sun she saw a small, golden object hurtling towards her; momentarily paralysed with confusion, she stared – was that a _snitch?_

The golden ball whacked Hermione on the forehead and like a light switch she was out.

 

* * *

 

Draco hit the tee and immediately cursed under his breath as his ball veered off to the right, carried by a particularly strong gust of wind. He watched it arc high into the air and then as though in slow motion, make its descent back to earth and hit some unfortunate woman on top of her head.

“Shit!” Draco dropped his golf club and ran towards the woman who lay sprawled on the grass, unmoving. She had a mass of brown curls covering her face and her golf club lay abandoned at her side. Fearing the worst, Draco sank to her knees and gave her a light shake, “Miss, are you alright?”

No response. He pushed back her hair from her face then yelped and fell back onto his backside in surprise. _Granger_ , he thought. _It had to be Hermione fucking Granger._

“Granger?” he asked tentatively crawling to her side. Still no response. Merlin, if anything were to secure him a cell in Azkaban surely it would be to kill one of the Golden Trio, accidentally or otherwise. He checked her pulse and gave a sharp sigh in relief; not dead. Just unconscious. He winced as he noticed a large welt forming on her tawny skin. Panic began to rise in him, unsure of what he should do. For the briefest of moments he considered just leaving her there; alert one of the other golfers that he saw a woman unconscious on the green then do a runner. He had a strong suspicion that if Hermione Granger woke up with Draco Malfoy looming over her, he might be in store for another hard slap to the face. It may have been nearly twenty-five years since the infamous incident on the Hogwarts school grounds, but he was still in no hurry for a repeat performance. But the moment of madness passed. He knew he couldn’t leave her.

“Bugger,” he muttered, looking all around him to make sure they were alone before pulling his wand out of his trouser pocket. He pointed his wand at Hermione and cried, _“Rennervate!”_

Hermione stirred feebly, groaning as she reached blindly for her own wand. Draco placed a hand on hers and she stilled, “Woah there Granger, not so fast. That was quite a hard knock to the head you took there.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open and she stared wide-eyed with panic into Draco’s face, “M-Malfoy?”

She glanced down at his hand and slapped it away. He quickly pocketed his wand and held up his hands in surrender, “Don’t freak out, now…”

“What the bloody hell is going on?” she asked trying to sit up, but winced at the pain in her head and sank back onto the ground. Cautiously she touched the spot where the golf ball had hit her and groaned, “Ouch. My head…what happened?”

“Seems my golf ball knocked you out. Sorry about that,” he muttered apologetically. “The wind blew it off course; I’m usually a much better shot.”

Hermione peered at Draco through her fingertips, “I’m definitely not hallucinating, then; you’re actually here. At the golf course.”

“In the flesh,” he quipped. Hermione groaned and covered her face in her hands again.

“Typical,” she muttered. “I come here to get some peace and quiet but instead I get knocked out and the first wizard I run into is you.”

“Excuse me, but you’re the one who got in the way of my golf ball,” he replied hotly. “I was happily minding my own business before you interrupted my game.”

Hermione gaped at him, “You knock me out and somehow it’s my fault?”

“It is a little bit,” he shrugged. “I admit I hit the ball off course, but there was no need for you to head-butt it.”

“I-you! Well, really!” she spluttered. She made to argue but paused when she saw he was grinning. She glared, “Think you’re funny, do you?”

“Very,” he smirked, then frowned again as his eyes fell on the growing lump on Hermione’s head. “I have some murtlap essence back in my room; that should help reduce the swelling.”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled taking more care to sit upright this time. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“You were unconscious when I found you and you have a lump on your head the size of a Galleon; you’re definitely not fine.”

“No thanks to you,” she said pointedly. Draco rolled his eyes but decided it was better not to argue with her.

“Tilly!” he cried. There was a loud _crack_ and a house elf appeared.

“How may I be of service, Master Malfoy?” she squeaked looking up at her master expectantly.

“Fetch the vial of murtlap essence from my bedroom,” he commanded. “Bring it back here as quickly as you can.”

“Yes, Master,” the house elf bowed so low that her pointed nose brushed off of the grass then disappeared again with another loud _crack_. Both of them sat waiting in awkward silence avoiding each other’s gaze, mercifully broken by the reappearance of the house elf a few moments later. She passed a small, glass vial to Draco, “Here is the essence of murtlap Master, as you requested!”

“Thank you, Tilly,” he replied taking the vial from the elf’s outstretched hand. Hermione glanced at Draco in surprise. _Did he just say thank you to his house elf?_

Draco uncorked the vial and poured some of the yellow ointment onto the tips of his fingers. He leaned forward to rub it into Hermione’s forehead and she flinched. He paused mid-reach, “I won’t hurt you, Granger. I promise this’ll help.”

After a moments consideration she relented and gave a curt nod in permission. Her head hurt too much to turn down the offer of treatment, even if it was from Draco Malfoy. He reached forward and gently massaged the ointment onto her skin. The effects were instantaneous, the pain lessening with each stroke of his cool fingers against her hot flesh. She sighed and closed her eyes, relieved to no longer be in pain, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he replied quietly. “I am sorry, you know. It wasn’t my intention to interrupt your game.”

“It’s fine,” she sighed. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I was just hoping to get some peace and quiet for a change. I haven’t been very successful in achieving that so far.”

“Granger, you could find trouble in an empty room,” he replied silkily. “But not to worry; I promise once I get you fixed up I’ll leave you in peace.”

His hand fell by his side but he didn’t move away. He was so close Hermione could feel his breath tickling her lips. She opened her eyes and felt her stomach do a small backflip; he looked older now with a few white hairs streaking his temples and she noticed a couple wrinkles at the outer corners of his silver-grey eyes, but when he smirked she thought it softened his hard features and made him look friendlier. She glanced down at his clothes and realised then to her surprise that he was wearing Muggle clothes, too. Just how hard did that golf ball hit her in the head?

“Better?” he asked rising to his feet. Hermione nodded.

“Much.”

Draco held out a hand to help her to her feet. She looked at it, momentarily hesitant before grabbing hold of it. Draco easily pulled her back to her feet, holding her hand a little longer than necessary before letting her go. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze, then bent over and scooped his golf ball off of the grass. When Hermione caught sight of it she scoffed, “A snitch golfball? _Really?”_

“What?” he asked innocently. “I think they look cool.”

“It’s not very subtle though, is it?” she noted. Draco snorted.

“Muggles are too self-absorbed to notice anything as small as this,” he threw the ball up into the air and caught it before slipping it into his pocket. “But if it worries you that much then I’ll stop using it.”

Hermione blinked in surprise, taken aback at how amenable he was being, “Thank you Malfoy, that would put my mind at ease.”

“No problem,” he smiled. “But only on one condition.”

Hermione groaned. Of course there was a catch.

“And what would that be?” she asked crossing her arms.

“That you have a drink with me tonight,” he replied lightly, but his eyes twinkled mischievously. Hermione frowned.

“Why do you want to have a drink with me?”

“Because I never do something for nothing,” he declared. “And to apologise for knocking you out. _And_ because you’re the only other person here that I know here.”

“You know me,” she nodded slowly. “But you don’t like me.”

“I don’t know anything about you,” he countered. “But I’d like to get to know you better. It’s been twenty years since we last had any semblance of a conversation. Quite a lot has changed since then.”

“Are you saying you’ve changed?” she asked sceptically.

“Not too much, no,” he admitted with a shrug. “But you can judge that for yourself – if you have a drink with me.”

Hermione considered his request. To her own surprise, she was quite keen to meet for this drink. If she was thinking objectively about the situation, she was a single woman – presumably he was single too – they were grown adults and were perfectly within their rights to talk to and drink with whomever they pleased. But then of course this wasn’t just anyone, this was Draco Malfoy; there was a lot of bad history between the two of them, and she wasn’t sure if twenty years was enough time to brand their childhood animosity as simply water under the bridge.

She thought of what Harry and Ron would say, but the voice in her head reminded her that they weren’t there. Like Draco said, it had been twenty years since they had last spoken. She was curious to find out what he had been up to in that time. _There’s nothing wrong with having a drink with him_ , she reasoned. _It’s not like anything is going to happen._

Draco stood waiting expectantly for her answer. His expression was cool, but Hermione noted his jaw was tense, perhaps from nerves. _Is he nervous?_ Interesting.

“Alright,” she nodded. “I’ll meet you for a drink. Just the one, though.”

Draco grinned broadly, “Excellent. I’ll meet you in The Century Bar tonight. Is eight o’clock okay for you?”

“Sure,” she nodded curtly.

Draco waved her off, “It’s a date, then.”

“It’s not a date!” she cried after him.

“Sure thing,” he called over his shoulder. “It was uh…not unpleasant to see you again, Granger.”

“Wow, that was almost a compliment!” laughed Hermione.

“Coming from me that _was_ a compliment,” he shouted with a laugh and disappeared over the horizon.

So, Hermione had come here for peace and relaxation, and had so far ended up knocked out and on a not-date with Draco Malfoy. She sighed and scooped her club off of the grass and thrust it into the golf bag. At the very least it was an interesting start to her holiday.


	4. Pep Talk

Draco’s hands fumbled nervously as he buttoned up his shirt, the third one he’d tried on so far; at first he’d put on his standard black but after checking himself in the mirror he worried that it was too plain and had swapped it out for a green velvet one that Pansy had bought him for Christmas. She argued that it ‘made him look younger’, but he thought it looked garish against his pale skin. Now he was having second thoughts about the third choice; a Paisley pattern that Blaise had talked him into buying but he had never worn. Looking at it now, he knew why – this was even worse than the green one. He sighed and pulled the shirt roughly off his shoulders. He’d just wear the black silk one.

His phone buzzed and he rolled his eyes as Daphne’s name came up on the screen. Answering the call he sat the phone down on the bedside table.

“You’re on loudspeaker,” he informed her without properly greeting her.

“Nervous?” she asked unperturbed. They knew each other well enough now to surpass formal greetings on the phone.

 _Bricking it_ , he thought truthfully.

“Nope,” he lied, holding two ties up in front of him, comparing them in his reflection. “What tie should I wear – green or grey?”

“Where are you taking her?” she asked.

“The Century Bar,” he replied.

“No tie,” she suggested. “And undo the top two buttons of your shirt.”

“Really?” he asked uncertainly, discarding the ties onto the bed. “Isn’t that going to look a bit casual?”

“I thought this was a casual drink?” asked Daphne with a hint of amusement in her voice.

“It is,” he smirked, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. Two was too many in his opinion.

“But you’re hoping for something more,” she chanced.

 _Maybe_ , he thought tentatively.

“Like you said,” he replied evasively. “It’s just a drink.”

“With Hermione Granger,” she noted, not even trying to disguise her amusement now. Draco frowned as he fiddled with his silver cufflinks.

“I should never have admitted that to you,” he mused, but his sister-in-law had a knack for eking out all sorts of sensitive information from Draco; as far as she was concerned, her years in the Auror’s office were well-spent simply so she could effectively interrogate him.

“I’m glad you did,” she said sincerely. “She obviously made quite the impression on you.”

“I knocked the poor woman out with a golf ball,” he replied dismissively. “The very least I could do was buy her a drink as way of an apology.”

“Of course it is,” said retorted in a mockingly sweet voice. “That’s why you’re getting your knickers in a twist about what tie you should wear. How many times have you changed your shirt already?”

“Just the once,” he lied, kneeling to tie his shoelaces.

“Sure,” she laughed sounding unconvinced. “Well, what I find most interesting is that this is the first time you’ve asked someone out for a date of your own volition; every previous date you’ve had to be coerced into. Admit it Draco, you asked her because you actually like her.”

“It’s not a date,” he reiterated more firmly.

“Of course it’s not,” she replied appeasingly. “Well you must call me back once your date— ah, excuse me, your _drink_ finishes up. I want to hear all the gory details.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” he promised.

“If I don’t hear from you until morning, I’ll assume that your night went well,” she teased. Draco laughed.

“I don’t even think a barrelful of Felix Felicis would make me that lucky.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” she gently chided him. “You’re quite the catch you know; you’re not hideous-looking—“

“Real boost to my confidence there, Daphne,” he grumbled.

“You’re independently wealthy, you have lands and titles—“ she continued.

“None of which will impress Granger,” he pointed out. He shook his head feeling increasingly dispirited, “Nothing I have to offer is of any interest to her. The more I think about it, the less I understand why she agreed to meet me in the first place.”

“Because she’s obviously interested in you too,” she laughed. “Seriously, stop worrying about it. Just go down there and see how it plays out. Just be yourself.”

Draco snorted, “I’m afraid that might be what scares her off.”

“Then it’ll be her loss,” she replied lightly. Draco smiled, a swelling feeling of love and appreciation for his sister-in-law filling his chest.

“Thank you, Daphne.”

“Any time, dear,” she crooned. “Pep talk’s over; go enjoy your date.”

“Not a date Daphne, but will do,” Draco hung up and slipped his phone into his pocket. His friends had been trying to encourage him to start dating again for a while now, but so far with little success; the girls Theo set him up with were all at least fifteen years too young for him and it made him cringe to think of dating a girl that was closer to his son’s age than his own. Daphne had tried setting him up on dates with a couple of her friends, and while they were friendly enough company, sparks didn’t fly either. Draco wanted someone who was on an equal footing to him, someone that would challenge him like Astoria had, but neither did he want a carbon copy of her.

Daphne was right – he didn’t ask women out on dates. It had been Astoria that had approached him initially all those years ago, and he hadn’t shown any particular interest in the women his friends had tried to set him up with since she’d passed. Hermione Granger on the other hand…

Draco felt something pleasant and warm blossom in the pit of his stomach when he thought about her. There was someone who had always piqued his interests. Even at school, he had been grudgingly fascinated with the young witch; how could this Muggle-born, so lacking in experience of the wizarding world outstrip him in everything? He could admit to himself now that it had been easier to make fun of her than to question everything his parents had always taught him about blood supremacy. But he was older and wiser now to see the fault in his reasoning; Hermione Granger wasn’t exceptional in spite of or because of her Muggle-born status – she just _was_ exceptional.

When he had seen her again today he had been momentarily taken aback by the feelings that she had stirred in him; it had been a long time since any woman had sparked his interests, longer still since he had felt that way about anyone other than his wife. Despite their unconventional reunion, he had thrown caution to the wind and had asked her out for a drink. The worst that could happen was that she would refuse and he would resume his holiday playing golf in blissful solitude. But to his surprise and delight she had said yes, though he couldn’t quite figure out why. He supposed he’d get his answer tonight.

Draco pulled on his suit jacket and fixed his shirt cuffs, giving himself a last look over in the mirror. He didn’t think he looked too bad for his age; his hair was tidy and slicked back, although not as severe as it had been in his school days. He’d grown his hair long when he had been married, but had cut it short soon after Astoria’s funeral in a desperate attempt at a fresh start. He hadn’t felt much better after doing it, but he thought he suited short hair nonetheless. He hoped that wearing black head to toe didn’t look too severe, but it was his most flattering colour. He instinctively reached for his wedding ring and then paused. Even though it had been two years since Astoria had passed, he still considered himself a married man. What would Granger say if she saw him still wearing his ring? Obviously he knew what had happened to Krum – he’d been at the fateful match along with half of the wizarding world – but he hadn’t noticed whether she still wore a ring on her hand since she’d been wearing a golfing glove at the time.

He sighed and slipped the band onto the ring finger of his right hand.

The ring still felt like an anchor of sorts; Astoria had always been there to keep his head straight, and wearing the ring even now reminded him of that. But he wasn’t sure whether wearing it kept him grounded anymore or it was just holding him back from moving on. Draco tried to shake away the internal conflict raging in him in that moment - between his love for his wife and these new feelings that had arisen in him; it was something to think about for another time, not just before his not-date with Hermione Granger. Striding out of the room with a greater air of confidence than he felt, he told himself that so long as Hermione didn’t slap him this time, the night would surely be considered a success.

Unless he knocked her unconscious again.

 _Not likely_ , he thought uncertainly. _But Merlin, knowing my luck it’s not impossible._


	5. Not a Date

Hermione peeked through the door of The Century Bar and saw the unmistakable platinum blonde hair of Draco Malfoy already sitting at the bar. Her stomach did a backflip at the sight of him and she quickly stepped back out of sight, brushing the front of her navy cocktail dress flat for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d put it on. She checked her watch - it was only ten to eight. She started debating with herself whether or not she should just go in - she didn’t want to appear too keen. Then again he had turned up early too…

 _Stop overanalyzing everything and just get in there_ , she chided herself. Taking a deep, steadying breath she held her head high and strode into the bar, trying to project an air of relaxed confidence. She hoped that she looked more confident than she felt; it was difficult to ignore her legs shaking as she teetered in a pair of heels she hadn’t worn since Teddy and Victoire’s wedding last summer.

As she walked towards Draco she took a moment to take in her surroundings; the decor screamed glamour and wealth - the Donegal tartan curtains draped on tall Victorian windows overlooked the expansive grounds of the estate. Intricately carved, pistachio-coloured wooden panels and crimson toned upholstery complimented the highly-polished dark wood flooring her heels clicked on. Art deco chandeliers hung low overhead bathing the room in a warm, inviting glow. Everything in the room cried luxury, complete with its glossy, marble-topped bar at the centre of the room. It was no surprise to Hermione that Draco Malfoy had chosen this as their meeting place, she imagined he felt very at home in a place like this.

The sound of her heels gave her away before she had the chance to greet him. He turned towards her and smiled broadly and Hermione felt her pulse quicken at the warm, welcoming expression on his face. Pushing the feeling aside she returned the smile, “You’re early.”

“So are you,” he noted rising to his feet. He touched her gently on the elbow and leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against her cheek. Hermione’s cheek burned on the spot where Draco’s lips had made contact, but she kept her cool and returned a polite kiss to his pale cheek. She couldn’t help but notice how soft his skin was under her lips, even if they had only touched for a moment. Draco helped her onto the stool next to him and asked, “What can I get you to drink?”

“Is that an Old Fashioned you’ve got there?” she asked glancing at the half-empty crystal tumbler in front of him. His mouth quirked.

“You know your cocktails, Granger. I’m impressed.”

Hermione shrugged, “I know my whiskeys. I’ll have the same as you, thank you.”

Draco nodded and signalled to the barman, “Two more, please.”

The barman nodded and began prepping fresh drinks for them both. Turning to face Hermione, Draco said lightly, “Well that’s at least one thing we have in common; I’m a bit of a whiskey connoisseur myself.”

“Well you’re just full of surprises aren’t you?” she asked cocking an eyebrow. “You play Muggle sports, wear Muggle clothes and now you drink Muggle whiskey too? Whatever happened to the boy who thought he was too good to be in the same room as a Muggleborn let alone ask one out for a drink?”

“The boy grew up,” he replied shortly, his smirk faltering. “Is this why you agreed to have a drink with me - so you could quiz me on the past mistakes of a stupid young man?”

“In part,” she admitted. “I’m interested in getting to know the person you are now, but i think first we need to know how we got here. You can’t blame me for being curious, you’re one of the last people I ever expected to see here.”

The relaxed atmosphere suddenly grew tense. Hermione knew she was probably throwing this one chance at a not-date with Draco Malfoy under the Knight Bus by grilling him, but she couldn’t help herself. She had been burning to ask him one question all afternoon and now was her chance. For a moment it looked as though Draco would up and leave the room, his jaw tensed as he seemed to be debating with himself whether or not it was worth his while to sit here and put up with this.

“Fine,” he snapped downing his drink in two large gulps and grimacing. He slammed the tumbler on the table and fixed her with an impassive expression. “I’ll indulge you your little Q&A session. But I get to ask you questions too.”

“Alright,” she took a sip of her drink then asked. “Why are you of all people lurking around a Muggle golf course?”

“To play golf,” he replied obtusely. Hermione glared at him and he sighed, “I thought that much would have been obvious. It may have been twenty years since the war ended, but shit sticks, Granger; I’m not exactly top of the invitation list when it comes to social events, and as a rule people tend to avoid me. Coming here provides me something sorely lacking in the wizarding world - anonymity.”

“So you come here to hide from the past?” she chanced. Draco shook his head.

“I’m not trying to escape my past, but I won’t deny that coming here gives me a welcome break from it. Rumours, accusations and suspicion follow me wherever I go. I’ve gotten used to it over the years, but my son struggles to understand why people hate his father so much. He’s only a boy, too young to understand that the sins of fathers are unfairly visited upon their sons.”

“I suppose you were only a boy yourself when you found that out,” she mused. Draco nodded sadly, avoiding her gaze and spinning his glass tumbler in circles on the bar’s marbletop surface. Hermione sighed, satisfied with his explanation but privately admonishing herself for creating tension between them. She didn’t want to spend an evening perusing over mistakes of the past either - the whole point of coming here was to avoid just that. Hoping a change of subject would lighten mood she asked tentatively.

“Your son - he’s in the same year as Harry’s boy, isn’t he?”

Draco nodded, his expression softening, “In his second year now. He’s become quite good friends with Potter’s son if you would believe it.”

“Yeah, I heard,” she replied shifting uncomfortably, recounting Harry’s less-than-accepting reaction to hearing his son’s best friend was a Malfoy. “Both Slytherin’s too.”

Draco laughed, “Bet that must have come as a bit of a shock to Potter.”

“A bit,” laughed Hermione.

“Would you like to see a picture of him?” he asked.

“Yes please,” she replied keenly. Draco pulled a photograph from the breast pocket of his shirt and handed it to Hermione. Beaming back at her was a young boy with the same platinum blonde hair, pointed features and grey eyes as his father. Beside him was unmistakably his mother - although her features were darker than her son’s, they both had the same almond-shaped eyes and dimples when they smiled. She had read in the papers that Draco’s wife had passed away some time ago, but knew little else of the circumstances around her death. A twinge of empathy tugged at her heart, knowing all too well what both father and son had lost. Hermione smiled kindly and passed the photograph back to him, “He looks just like you did at that age. Scorpius, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” he smiled. “He’s a good boy; very studious and kind-natured - more so than I ever was at that age.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult, you were an insufferable brat at school,” Hermione pointed out.

“As if I needed reminding,” he mumbled into his drink. Hermione smirked and fumbled through her purse.

“Would you like to see a picture of my kids?”

“Definitely,” he replied taking the photo from Hermione. “What are their names?”

“Polina and Mikhail,” she replied smiling fondly at the dark-haired twins waving enthusiastically out of the photograph. “They’re in their fourth year now.”

“Wow, they look a lot like Krum,” noted Draco. Hermione nodded proudly.

“They take a lot after their father; both of them are excellent fliers. Micky’s a dab hand at Transfiguration, that’s what he wants to specialise in. Polly wants to be a Seeker like her father, but I’m not keen on it.”

“Understandable,” said Draco sympathetically.

After a shaky start the conversation began to flow more easily, covering all the usual subjects - the trials and tribulations of raising children with and without their spouses, what old school friends were up to nowadays, their hobbies (Draco was still passionate about Quidditch, but was courteous enough not to discuss it with Hermione, focussing on their shared interest in golf instead). Hermione talked extensively about her work at the _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_ (renamed _Magical Persons Services_ after Hermione became Department Head), and Draco seemed genuinely interested in listening to what she had to say. It was refreshing for Hermione since most of her friends groaned and rolled their eyes when she began talking about the extensive reforms she had achieved for House Elves - in recent years she had secured wages, holiday pay, and state pensions for all House Elves. Of course, the elves had taken the news with less enthusiasm than she had hoped, but it was still the proudest moment of her career thus far.

One drink had turned into four, and Hermione was enjoying the pleasant buzz of alcohol and good company. Naturally the conversation turned towards their spouses. It was strange being on a date (Not a date, Hermione half-heartedly reminded herself taking another sip of whiskey) and being able to speak so openly about their marriages and coping with the loneliness of widowhood.

Draco waved to the barman for another round and explained, “Astoria was the one that suggested coming to Gleneagles in the first place, and Scorpius loves it up here. Despite being a pureblood she knew a surprising amount about the Muggle world - she loved their music, their movies...she introduced me to a lot of new things I wouldn’t have found otherwise.”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman,” smiled Hermione warmly then added. “You know, it sounds strange considering this is supposed to be a date--”

“I thought it was just a drink?” teased Draco. Hermione rolled her eyes. Clearly the alcohol was loosening her tongue.

“We’ll see how the rest of the night goes before I decide whether or not this was a date.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “You have something in mind for us later this evening?”

“Maybe,” she replied slowly, lowering her gaze. “If you play your cards right.”

Draco sat up a little more attentatively than before and Hermione smirked. She had to admit, she had missed having another person being so engrossed in her - to her body as well as her mind. She tapped him on the thigh with her foot and she felt him tense under her touch.

“I’m going to say something serious first before the night continues,” she began. Draco sat his drink down and gave her his full attention before she continued, “What I was trying to say was that it sounds strange considering this is supposed to be a date, but it’s nice being able to talk so candidly with another person about Viktor. Most of the time my friends and colleagues walk on eggshells around me, afraid to mention him. I don’t feel like I need to do that with you, probably because unfortunately we’re in the same boat.”

Draco lowered his gaze and nodded, “I know what you mean. Most women wouldn’t like to hear me talking about Astoria. They’d get jealous because I speak about her so much. But we were together for a long time, she was a huge part of my life…”

“I understand completely,” Hermione assured him resting her hand on his. “She was your wife, your best friend, the mother to your child - she was your whole world. Like Viktor was mind. I don’t think there’s anything wrong being honest and acknowledging that to one another.

“And it’s not a competition. I’m not here to compete for your affections. You don’t have to compete for mine. We’re just two people who are getting to know each other. We might end up being friends and who knows,” she gave his hand a slight squeeze. “It might be something more. But I think there’s only one way to find out.”

Draco’s breath hitched and his eyes remained fixed firmly on Hermione’s hand resting on his own. She leaned in a little closer and whispered, “So what do you say we finish up our drinks and we get out of here? Get to know each other a little better?”

“Sounds good,” he replied hoarsely and downed his drink in one large gulp. Hermione grinned broadly and downed her own drink. Slamming the tumbler onto the countertop she grabbed Draco’s hand and dragged him out of the bar. This was going to be fun.


	6. Sassenach

Draco’s heart was racing with a mixture of nerves and excitement. So this was really happening - he was taking Hermione Granger to bed. Merlin, someone must have slipped some Liquid Luck into his cocktail. He frowned as Hermione suddenly veerd left away from the stairs towards the guest bedrooms, instead heading in the direction for the exit to the grounds.

“Uh, Granger,” he said confused. “I thought we were going upstairs...”

“Oh no,” she laughed lightly hurrying down the stone steps and onto the gravel path. “We’ve been somewhere you wanted to go this evening, now it’s my turn to pick our next destination.”

Draco bristled, “I only took you there because it was the best!”

“And it was very nice, but it was a bit soulless wasn’t it?” she countered, a playful smirk on her lips. “I fancy taking you somewhere with a bit more…character.”

Draco’s eyes widened. What did this woman have in store for him?

They rounded a corner and were immediately shrouded in darkness. Hermione pulled Draco up against the wall of the building, pressing her body close against his. Draco looked down at her, struggling to keep his breathing steady. It had been such a long time since he’d felt this way about another person. It was a little overwhelming, but looking down into her eyes, round and wide with a sliver of moonlight shining in them, he wanted nothing more in the world than to kiss her. He teased one of her wild ringlets between his fingers he leaned a little closer. Hermione’s lips grazed passed his own and pressed against his ear.

“Hold tight,” she warned, and the next moment Draco felt as though he were being squeezed through a tight tube. He couldn’t catch his breath as he felt his whole body hurtling sideways through the darkness. Just as suddenly his feet hit solid ground and he gasped as cold night air filled his lungs. Hermione patted him roughly on the arm, “Are you alright?”

Draco glared at her, “It’s only good manners to pre-warn someone before performing a side-along apparition!” He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings, “Where the hell are we?”

“Auchterarder,” said Hermione slipping her hand into Draco’s and guiding him up a small village high street. “We’re only down the road from the hotel. You mean to say you’ve been going to Gleneagles for years and you’ve never been here?”

“I never got round to it,” he sniffed defensively. Hermione laughed.

“Well we’re rectifying that tonight. Come on, I’ve heard good things about this place.”

“What place?” he asked nervously. Hermione dragged him reluctantly towards a small pub. The cheap plastic blue sign above it read ‘The Niblick’ and it had two crossed golf clubs hanging above the door. Draco paused, looking uncertain, “You want to go in here?”

“Yup,” she smiled pushing the door open and the noise of the rowdy pub spilled out onto the quiet street. Draco didn’t follow, standing out in the street stony-faced with his arms crossed. Hermione turned and looked at him expectantly, “Indulge me this much, Draco. One drink. If you don’t like it we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“One drink,” he mumbled. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Reluctantly Draco followed her into the small Muggle pub. He took in the unfamiliar surroundings with growing apprehension; there was a small bar in the centre of the room, a large television in the corner was showing golf and a man in the corner was playing music.

“Oh good, we haven’t missed the karaoke!” Hermione pointed out excitedly. Draco rolled his eyes. This definitely wasn’t what he’d had in mind for tonight. Squeezing passed a few boisterous patrons, they managed to find a small table in the corner of the room. They had to squeeze close together to fit around the small table, but Draco wasn’t going to complain about that.

“What would you like to drink?” she asked pulling out her purse.

“I’ll have another Old Fashioned,” he asked giving the place a disparaging once-over.

“They won’t do cocktails here, Draco,” she explained. “How about a beer instead?”

Draco pulled a face, “Fine. But I’ll get this round - I want to see what they have up at the bar.”

Draco slid off of his seat and disappeared through the crowd. Hermione checked her phone and tensed when she noticed she had a missed call and a text message from Harry:

_Harry: Are you free to chat atm?_

_Hermione: Sorry I’m busy. Everything alright?_

_Harry: I’m fine. I just had an interesting convo with Daphne Zabini…_

Hermione frowned. She knew that Draco’s sister-in-law worked in the Auror’s Office with Harry, but she didn’t think they were particularly close work colleagues.

_Hermione: Oh right. What’s the gossip?_

_Harry: She tells me that you’re out on a date with Malfoy tonight._

Hermione gasped. _That absolute pillock_ , she thought furiously. What was he doing telling Daphne about their date? _Not a date_ , she told herself feebly, but even she couldn’t convince herself of that now. Shit, what was she going to tell Harry?

_Harry: Is that why you’re too busy to chat?_

“I don’t like the cut of your jib!” a gruff voice boomed over the music. The chatter died down as Hermione heard a familiar voice reply.

“The cut of my _what?_ Sir, if you are going to address me, do so in English.”

Hermione’s head snapped towards the bar and she groaned. Draco was sneering down at a portly man with cropped red hair who conspicuously had the phrase ‘Alba gu bràth’ tattooed across his neck. The man may have been a head shorter than Draco, but he didn’t look like the sort to be trifled with. Panic rising in her, Hermione shoved her phone into her handbag and hurried towards the bar. This night was quickly spirally out of control.

“That’s enough, Tam!” the barmaid shouted at the red-haired man. “I don’t want any fighting in my pub tonight!”

The man ignored the barmaid’s warning and poked a stubby finger into Draco’s chest, “We don’t like your type in here.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he sneered, “My type? Well-dressed and well-spoken - that type, you mean?”

“The English type!” growled Tam.

Hermione grabbed Draco by the arm, “Come on, let’s just head back up to the hotel.”

But Draco didn’t budge, “Not yet, Granger. I haven’t finished chatting to my little friend here.”

Tam spluttered indignantly, but Draco interrupted him again before he could respond, “You Scots are famed for being able to hold your liquor, correct?”

The pub erupted into laughs and cheers. Tam gave Draco a toothy grin, “Aye, that we are.”

“Then let’s settle this the old-fashioned way; a drinking contest. Last man standing wins.”

“Draco, this is stupid!” hissed Hermione, but her protestations were drowned out in the eruption of cheers and jeers from everyone else in the pub. The barmaid slammed a bottle of Fireball Cinammon Whisky in front of the men and filled two shot glasses.

Draco and Tam clinked their glasses together and downed the first drink. Everyone except Hermione cheered. Draco kept his expression impassive as he slammed the empty shot glass down onto the bar and nodded for a refill, but his eyes were streaming. The whiskey had an unexpected kick to it. Hermione watched nervously as Draco and the other man downed shot after shot. She felt her phone buzz in her purse again but she ignored it, watching proceedings unfold with a growing sense of unease. After the tenth shot, Tam’s face was as bright as his hair. Draco clung desperately to the bar, but he refused to back down.

“Ready to give up, sassenach?” jibed Tam, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

“Nope,” replied Draco, struggling to keep his eyes focused. With a struggle, he raised his shot glass, “Ready when you are!”

Tam aimed for Draco’s glass and missed spectacularly, pouring whiskey all down the front of his suit trousers. Draco snorted and slapped Tam heartily on the shoulder, who began to giggle hysterically. The next moment Draco’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he keeled over. The last thing he heard before he blacked out was Hermione shrieking his name.


	7. Hangover

Draco’s head was thumping. He tentatively moved it and winced as a wave of nausea swept over him. _Fuck me_ , he thought helplessly. It had been a long time since he’d woken up feeling this rough. His eyes stung as sunlight poured into the bedroom through the open French doors that led out onto a large balcony. Draco felt his insides freeze - he didn’t have a balcony in his hotel bedroom. He glanced around the unfamiliar room with growing horror. This was not his bedroom. Looking down at himself he gave an inward sigh of relief - at least he was fully dressed.

“So you’ve decided to rejoin us in the land of the living?” came a familiar voice. Draco squinted against the sunlight and saw Hermione sitting cross-legged on the balcony lounger clutching an oversized cup in her hands. She was wearing a large, fluffy white bathrobe and an amused expression.

“Did I win?” he croaked. His throat felt as dry as sandpaper.

“Nope,” she replied lightly. “You lost. Rather spectacularly, too. That said, Big Tam was surprised you were able to hold on for as long as you did.”

“Big Tam?” asked Draco uncertainly.

“The large, tattooed, red-headed gentlemen you made friends with last night,” she reminded him. “After you came to, you both decided to put aside your differences and became the best of friends.”

“Whaaa..?” Draco lifted his head and grimaced at the throbbing pain shooting through his skull. Sinking his head back into the warm pillow, he tried to piece together the events of the night before. Everything was pretty clear up until the fourth or fifth shot of whiskey. Then things started to become...blurry. Fragmented memories flew through his mind - he remembered laughing and joking with a red-haired man. There had been even more drinking. And, Merlin...

“Was I singing last night?” he asked cautiously.

“With Big Tam,” Hermione confirmed sounding increasingly amused. “You both gave a beautiful rendition of ‘Like A Virgin’. I didn’t know you had such a beautiful singing voice, Draco.”

Draco groaned and felt a fresh wave of horror and embarrassment wash over him on top of the nausea. Other memories came flooding back - he and Hermione staggering up the country road towards the hotel. Being sick in a bush while she patted him gingerly on the back assuring him he’d be alright. Dancing with Hermione, in the pub and up the darkened country lane, singing at the top of their lungs. “Fuck,” he muttered, covering his eyes as though it would help block out the images racing through his mind.

Draco felt the bed sink to his left and he peered through his fingers to see Hermione looking down at him with a surprisingly fond expression. Even though his head was pounding, it didn’t dissuade a familiar stirring in his trousers. It couldn’t be helped, he reasoned. Even if he did feel like shit, it wasn’t every day he woke up to find a beautiful woman sitting in bed with him.

“Here,” she said gently, passing him a cup of steaming hot tea. He sat up gingerly and took it from her hands. As their fingers brushed against one another, Draco felt an altogether more pleasant feeling rush through him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Mortified,” he replied shortly, taking a sip from his cup. Hermione laughed.

“Yeah, we were both in a bit of a mess last night. I guess you don’t remember much after we reached the pub?”

“I’m afraid not,” he admitted sheepishly. “What do I need to apologise for?”

“Mainly for engaging in a pointless dick-swinging contest with the local hardman, but other than that you were fine. I actually had a really good time last night.”

“Yeah, me too. I think,” he frowned. “So after the pub, we...”

“You lost your room key and your jacket at some point during the night, Merlin only knows where. You were more than happy to kip out in the corridor, but I took sympathy on you and invited you to spend the night here,” she explained lightly. “You were excellent company for the whole five minutes you managed to stay awake. I must say, you’re quite chatty when you’re drunk.”

“Merlin, do I want to know?” he groaned. Hermione smiled like a Cheshire cat.

“Oh, it was nothing bad. You just kept telling me how beautiful and exceptional I was. And you promised to show me a night I would never forget. Well, you certainly did that.”

Draco’s eyes widened with horror, but she laughed and grabbed his hand reassuringly, “We didn’t do anything, you pillock! Well, we kissed a bit, but then you pretty much passed out the second your head it the pillow. I stayed up for a couple of hours watching TV before I crashed next to you.”

Draco felt a rush of relief and disappointment that they hadn’t taken things further than a drunken kiss. He had definitely gotten more than he bargained for on a night out with Hermione Granger, but he had hoped things would have turned out differently. Now that she had seen the absolute worst of him, he was certain that there would be no second date.

There was a light knock at the door and Hermione hopped off of the bed to answer it.

“Breakfast, Madam!” called a cheerful voice and a young woman wheeled a service trolley into the room. She greeted Draco with a polite nod and asked, “Where would you like me to leave your food?”

“Out on the balcony, thank you,” said Hermione before chucking a fresh towel at Draco’s head. “You’ll probably want a shower before you join me for breakfast.”

“Definitely,” he muttered, slinking into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him. He sighed and banged his already sore head against the door. He still felt like an idiot, but it was encouraging that she hadn’t kicked him out yet and had invited him to stay for breakfast. Maybe this was salvageable after all.

* * *

Draco felt a lot better after a long shower and eating the continental breakfast that Hermione had ordered for them. They both sat out in the balcony wrapped in matching white fluffy bathrobes, nursing their hangovers and enjoying the sunshine.

“Don’t fancy a round of golf this morning?” he joked.

“Maybe later this afternoon,” she suggested. “I’m still feeling a bit delicate.”

Hermione’s phone buzzed and she checked it. Smiling at the message she slipped it back into her pocket.

“It’s just Harry checking up on me,” she explained, then drew Draco a questioning look. “I’ve been meaning to ask - did you tell your sister-in-law that we were going out on a date?”

“Yes,” he replied honestly, then raised his eyebrows at her shocked expression. “Why, was it supposed to be a secret?”

“No, I--” Hermione sighed. “I just hadn’t told Harry and Ron and now Harry’s on my case about it.”

Draco snorted, “Bad enough our sons are friends, now his friends are associating with me as well. He must be having a fit.”

“Not as badly as I thought he would,” she admitted. “But I called him this morning and we had a long chat. He said he was more annoyed that he had to find out from someone else in work about it. To be honest, I was surprised that you told anyone.”

Draco frowned, “Why?”

Hermione shrugged avoiding his gaze, “Because of how your friends might react if they knew it was me.”

“Isn’t that why _you_ didn’t say anything to your friends?” he reminded her pointedly.

Hermione blushed, “Yeah, I suppose it was. Sorry.”

Draco waved his hand dismissively, “I get it. I know all too well how protective Potter and Weasley are of you. Still, they didn’t discourage me in my pursuit of you.”

“Knocking out women with a golf balls is your way of letting them know you’re attracted to them?” she teased.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” he joked. “I still feel a tad guilty about it to be honest, there must be some way I can make it up to you.”

Hermione stretched out a bare leg and rested it on the edge of Draco’s chair, tapping his thigh with her foot, “I wouldn’t worry about it - you knocked me out, then you knocked yourself out. I’d say we’re about even.”

Draco laughed softly and lifted Hermione’s foot onto his lap and proceeded to give her a foot rub. Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, sinking lower into her lounger, “That feels really nice.”

“It’s the least I could do after all the trouble I’ve caused you,” he smiled.

“I knew hanging out with you would cause trouble,” she teased. “But then I’ve always had a soft spot for troublemakers.”

Hermione slid her other foot up the inside of Draco’s leg towards his crotch, and her eyes widened as she grazed his erection. Draco smirked and began to snake his hand up her calf towards her exposed thigh.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door and a woman cried, “Housekeeping!”

Hermione and Draco groaned in frustration. Hermione hurried to the door and shooed the cleaner away, placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle and switched off her mobile phone. No more bloody interruptions.

She turned to head back to the balcony, but bumped into something solid and warm. She looked up into Draco’s grey eyes, dark with arousal as he leaned forward, pressing his body flush against her own. So this really was happening. She’d thought about it often enough, but a sudden rush of uncertainty gripped her then; she really wanted to do this, but...

“It’s been a long time since I’ve…with anyone else,” she said quietly, averting her gaze. Draco lifted her chin and looked into her wide, brown eyes. His breath hitched at how beautiful, vulnerable and strong she was in that moment. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt this woman or make her feel uncertain. He ran a thumb gently across her cheek to reassure her.

“Me too,” he admitted. The tension in her shoulders eased a little and she nodded. Finally, he kissed her, pressing her lips firmly against his own, chaste at first to test the waters. Hermione’s eyelashes fluttered and she closed her eyes, then opened her mouth a little, an invitation to deepen the kiss. Draco gently brushed his tongue against hers and groaned - even this small moment of intimacy was almost too intense for them both. Christ, it had been so long since he had felt the press of another person’s body against his own. He didn’t realise how desperately he’d missed it - needed it - until this moment. It seemed Hermione felt the same way. She cradled Draco’s face with both hands and ran her fingers through his damp hair, moaning as their kiss became more heated.

A new kind of desperation rose up inside of Hermione as she wrapped her leg around Draco’s thigh to pull him closer. They both groaned as his throbbing erection brushed against her inner thigh, only the thin cotton of their robes acting as a barrier between them. Hermione swiftly undid the cord of Draco’s robes and slipped them off of his broad shoulders, leaving him naked and achingly aroused.

She broke their kiss and pulled back to take in the delectable sight before her. Merlin, he looked like a marble statue. His smooth chest was rising and falling rapidly under her intense scrutiny, but she took her time running her hands over his body, relishing every inch of his perfect, porcelain skin - his toned arms, the curve of his slender waist, his taut, muscular thighs and long pale legs. The vee of his hips drew her eyes towards his stiff cock, and she noted that even that was perfect - thick, not too long for her, and the same shade of pink that currently flushed his cheeks.

Hermione looked up at him determinedly and slipped her own bathrobe off of her shoulders, letting it fall in a pile at her feet. Draco’s eyes widened as he drank in the sight of her. He knew that she would be beautiful, but to see her naked in the flesh surpassed his imagination. Without thinking he reached out and brushed a thumb against her perk nipple. Hermione shivered under his touch and his cock twitched eagerly.

“Hermione,” he whispered hoarsely. For once in his life he was lost for words. But the way he said her name...Hermione felt the last sliver of uncertainty melt away and she kissed him hard. It was hungry and fierce and long overdue for both of them. Draco wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up by the rear. Instinctively Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips and held tight as he walked them over to the bed, never breaking their kiss.

They crashed down onto the soft bed and continued to explore each others bodies; gently tracing their fingers and lips everywhere their hands and mouths could reach, paying close attention to the sounds and movements of each other. They had only kissed and touched so far, but Draco was already addicted to the little shivering breaths that Hermione made. The way her eyelids fluttered when he kissed her breasts. The way her toes curled when he nibbled on her earlobe. He wanted to learn how to push all of Hermione’s buttons.

Draco gently traced his hand up Hermione’s inner thigh and grazed her clit with the tips of his fingers and she gasped as a spark of pleasure blossomed between her legs. She rutted her hips forward inviting Draco to continue and the low, desperate groan that rumbled from Draco’s throat made her feel light-headed, his arousal turning her on even more. Hermione wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and slowly rubbed her hand along the velvety skin of his shaft, savouring every groan and ragged breath that escaped his lips. Draco whimpered and rolled his hips to increase the intensity of the contact, thrusting into her tight fist. As Hermione’s breathing became more laboured, she spread her legs wide and threw her head back against the bed, her wild hair slicked across her face. Draco swept it back, the better to see her beautiful features as she writhed under his touch.

“Oh fuck, keep doing that,” she panted, and Draco eagerly complied, tracing his index finger in a figure-of-eight around her clit over and over again. Fuck, Draco was so close to coming just watching her - Hermione’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her mouth, slack and panting, let out a scream as her orgasm took hold. Draco took Hermione’s left nipple into his mouth and ran his tongue over the tip, causing Hermione to squirm and moan even more. Draco groaned happily and he felt like he was tumbling off a sheer cliff into heaven alongside her. As the tension in her body relaxed she began to shiver. Draco carefully withdrew his hand and kissed the crook of her neck.

“You look fucking amazing when you come,” he sighed contentedly. Draco hadn’t even had an orgasm yet and already felt sated. But then Hermione grasped his cock and he gasped in surprise and arousal, thrusting into Hermione’s hand again.

She gave him a heated look and commanded, “Fuck me.”

Draco only managed a strangled whimper in response at that. Fuck, she was bossy in bed too - and he loved it. Climbing on top of her he caught her lips in another searing kiss before thrusting his cock inside of her, both of them crying out in relief and shock at the intensity of their contact. Draco felt like every nerve-ending in his body was about to explode, he was afraid to move because it would be all over too soon for both of them. Taking a few moments to catch his breath, he slowly began to move his hips. Hermione wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and encouraged him to thrust deeper, faster. Their bodies were slick with exertion as they undulated back and forth, both of them gasping into the kiss now, their breaths ragged with exertion and arousal.

Draco felt his own orgasm fast approaching. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold off any longer he growled and with a final thrust felt his orgasm erupt in a dazzling array of stars across his eyes. His whole body shuddered as he seized Hermione closer to him, holding her tightly as though to keep himself grounded to the earth’s axis.

As his post-orgasmic bliss subsided, a contentedness he hadn’t felt in a very long time spread through him. Sex was one thing, but intimacy was something else entirely, and he had had a lingering worry at how he would react after his first time with another woman. But as they lay on the bed exhausted but happy, Hermione lazily teasing his hair through her fingertips, he had no sudden compulsion to up and leave. He was quite content with where he was - with her. He only hoped the feeling was mutual.


	8. Epilogue

_Mr Draco Malfoy_

_The honour of your presence is requested at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the morning of May 2nd to attend the 22nd Annual Remembrance Service._

_The ceremony will take place at eleven o’clock in the Great Hall in remembrance of all who fell during the Second Wizarding War._

_Guests are to arrive at ten o’clock sharp. The ceremony will begin at eleven o’clock and will end promptly at one-thirty. Light refreshments will be provided afterwards._

_Please R.S.V.P. A.S.A.P._

_Kindest regards,_

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

_Anthony Goldstein, Events Organiser and Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation._

 

Draco tossed the invitation onto the table and stretched out on the lounger, staring out at the Perthshire mountains, deep in thought.

“You think you’ll go this year?” asked Hermione, peering at him over the top of her book. He shrugged noncommittally.

“We turned up to the last one, but I don’t think it’s realistic to expect us to attend every year.”

“They always expect Harry to,” she mused darkly.

“Well, then thank Merlin you’re not Harry,” he smirked, giving her the once-over. “For more than one reason.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her book, propping her feet up on to Draco’s lap. He began massaging her feet and continued, “He should just tell them to bugger off. It’s the Easter holidays - why should we all disrupt our trip for something we don’t even enjoy?”

“I quite agree,” she replied lazily. “I’d much rather spend the anniversary up here in the company of everyone that I love.”

“Are you talking about me, your friends or the golf course?” laughed Draco.

“The golf course, obviously,” she replied lightly.

The hotel door opened with a crash and two boys streaked towards them.

“Dad!” shouted Scorpius skidding to a halt in front of his father, Albus close behind. “Mr. Potter is organising a Quidditch match down by Loch Earn this afternoon and _everyone_ is going to be there!”

“Uncle Ron and Aunt Cho - Mum and Dad are playing too,” added Albus eagerly.

“Can I play with them?” asked Scorpius desperately. The sound of more feet drew their attention to the bedroom door which had been left ajar, and two more people jogged into the room, taller and darker-featured than the boys.

“Mum,” breathed Polina. “Did Scorp tell you?”

“About the match? Yes,” Hermione nodded resting her book on her lap. “I expect you both want to play?”

“Can we?” asked Mikhail keenly.

“Yeah Dad, can we?” asked Scorpius again. The children began chattering over one another, but they fell silent when Hermione raised her hand to get their attention.

“You can play,” Hermione began and the twins high-fived. “But only if you both complete your Potions homework before the match.”

The twins groaned, but Hermione spoke over their protestations, “And I’ll be checking your homework’s up to scratch before you step one foot onto the pitch. Understood?”

“Yes, Mum,” chorused the twins miserably.

“Well, you better get to it if you want to get your homework done in time for the match,” she said shooing them away. “Off you go, now. Come see me if you need any help.”

“Will do,” waved Polina and she slunk out of the room with her brother. Scorpius stood waiting patiently for his father’s response, hopping up and down on the balls of his feet.

“So, can I play?”

“Have you done all of your homework?” asked Draco, already knowing the answer.

“Yes!” Scorpius nodded. Draco smiled.

“Then yes, you can play.”

“Yes!” hissed Albus triumphantly. Scorpius hugged his dad tightly.

“One more thing,” added Scorpius excitedly pulling away and standing up straight. “They want _you_ to play, too! Please say you’ll play, Dad. You're always saying you're a better flyer than Mr. Potter and I want to see you beat him!”

“Yeah, it would be hilarious!” laughed Albus. Draco looked inquiringly at Hermione and an unspoken understanding passed between the two of them in that moment. Draco knew that Hermione wasn’t keen on him playing Quidditch - for obvious reasons. However much Draco may relish the chance at a rematch against Potter on the Quidditch field, he wouldn’t do it unless Hermione felt confident enough that he would be safe. Hermione’s peace of mind was worth more than a silly game of one-upmanship.

But Hermione gave him a curt nod, one that said, _It’s okay._ Draco grinned and turned to Albus, “Tell your Dad that he’s about to get his arse handed to him.”

“Draco!” chided Hermione, kicking him lightly on the thigh with her foot, but he just laughed.

“Alright, tell him that I would be delighted to beat him on the pitch this afternoon.”

The boys cheered and sprinted back out of the room and out of sight. Draco gave Hermione’s foot an affectionate squeeze, “Are you sure it’s alright if I play?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she assured him. “I still hate Quidditch and I’ll never understand why everyone is so obsessed with it. But I don’t have to understand it or like it. You guys go and have a great day and I’ll just catch up with you this evening for dinner.”

“Aren’t you coming to watch?” he asked curiously. Hermione scoffed.

“Certainly not. I’m going to take advantage of the peace and quiet and get in a game of golf.”

Draco laughed and Hermione settled herself more comfortably onto the recliner and went back to reading her book. The irony wasn’t lost on her, of course - that it had been a snitch golf ball that had thrust Hermione and Draco back into each other’s lives.

Hermione Granger still hated Quidditch. But she loved Draco Malfoy more.


End file.
